as usual, there is a faint whiff of crisis in the air. like how an unlit cigarette tastes right after the wind has snuffed out your matchstick a second too soon.

and indeed there will be time
to wonder, "do i dare?" and "do i dare?"

the mosaic has to be infinite and intricate. but the children should want to play in its corridors, and morning sunshine should stream in through the windows. Daedalus should be left to his own devices. i kneel all day and all night long singing hymns to Dionysus, but my Dionysus
eternally, unceasingly seeks his Eurydice, and is spiritually Orphic.